Fatherhood
by Evening Nightshade
Summary: Two generations of fathers reflect as they hold their new born sons. Part Two added, story complete
1. Part One: Son Of Arathorn

**FATHERHOOD, BY EVENING NIGHTSHADE.**

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_DISCLAIMER:_ Sorry, own nothing, so don't sue! 

_SUMMARY:_ Two generations of fathers reflect as they hold their new born sons. 

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**_PART ONE: SON OF ARATHORN_**

Your eyes stare sightlessly at me as Gilraen passes you into my arms. But you do not cry as I had feared. Barely a whimper escapes your lips at being parted from your mother. It is as though you trust me; it is as though you know who I am, my son. 

I lift my gaze to stare into my wife's eyes, and find them moist with tears. I can feel them sting my own eyes as I hold you, my firstborn. 

"He must have a name," Gilraen tells me. "As his father, you must choose." 

I simply nod, staring at you once more. The truth is, child, I have chosen a name for you; but I fear to give it to you. I fear the duties it will bring you, the burden it will place on your tiny shoulders. You entered this world barely an hour ago; I will not place all its weight on you just yet, Aragorn, son of Arathorn. 

Reluctantly, I place you back in your mother's embrace, and kiss her brow softly. "He is perfect, my love. Perfect." 

She smiles even through her exhaustion. Her labour has been long and hard, and more than once I had feared for both of your lives. Many good women have been lost in childbirth, and I could not bear my wife to join them. But you are both alive and healthy, and I offer a prayer to the Valar in thanks. 

I sit on the bed, and wrap my arms around her. She leans into my embrace and lays your tiny head on her breast. How vulnerable you look, child. It chills me to know what path lays before you one day; but no more thoughts of that. That time seems infinitely far away from the joys of this day. 

Yet I cannot force this knowledge from my mind. I know that the day will come when you will leave the shelter of this house for the harshness of the wilds. Men will one day shun you, and creatures of darkness will hunt you like a beast. The fate which passed to me with the death of my father will be passed to you on my death. It is our burden, my son. Our gift and our curse. 

Far in the east, Gondor's throne sits empty. But I will not be the Man to sit upon it. Perhaps you will succeed where so many of our kindred failed. We are the Heirs of Elendil, the Chieftain of the Dunedain, the Rangers of the North. 

"He looks so much like you," Gilraen whispers, drawing me from melancholy thoughts of my son's - our son's - future. 

"Aye," I reply, dropping a kiss to the back of her neck. 

The midwife, who I can imagine has stood outside the door tapping her foot impatiently, marches into the room, and scolds me for staying with my wife and child for so long. She takes my son from Gilraen's arms, and lays him in the cradle. I am barely able to kiss my wife goodbye before the woman ushers me from the chamber and closes the door. 

I pause outside the door, and smile softly. Sleep well, my love. Sleep well, Aragorn, my son. 


	2. Part Two: Son of Aragorn

_Author's Note: _Sorry it took so long to update. I'd just like to thank all my kind reviewers :) And, I'd like to especially thank Mel and Algol for beta-reading.

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_**PART TWO: SON OF ARAGORN**_

"Patience is the virtue of Kings..." I repeat slowly, savouring each word as though it would drown out my Evenstar's screams. Nay, it does not help; every action only seems to frustrate me more.

My advisors gather around, talking in hushed whispers._ What name shall the child receive? Are the heralds prepared? If the child should die... If the Queen should die..._

My fist clenches; I bite my lip. But a strong hand grips my elbow uneasily. Faramir's grey eyes gaze back at mine, and we share a look of understanding. He leans in close, his words buzzing in my ear. "_This _is the true curse of Men." I chuckle wearily in response. "'Twill soon be over, Aragorn. It has been a quick labour."

My lips part; but the words are driven from my mind by a final screaming gasp, and the harsh cries of a newborn's lungs. I drink in the sound, so painful, yet so beautiful... I do not realise that Faramir is grasping my palm, shaking it heartily... My eyes are rooted to the doors. Throughout her labour, they seemed so infuriatingly close... now, the distance grows with my every breath.

Suddenly, the doors are parted with a heavy creak. The air fills with the scent of herbs, so strong that a mist of drowsiness smoothers me for but a moment. I fight it, wanting to savour every second...

The elven mid-wife peers out, her brow gleaming with perspiration and joy. "My Lord, you have a son."

Behind me, advisors scurry about, calling for scribes, heralds, servants... Faramir nudges me gently. "Your family awaits - I can handle this."

With a grateful smile, I cross the infinite hall, and slide past the elven healer, towards my beloved Evenstar...

She lies, cocooned in blankets, robes clinging to her sweat-soaked body, her expression distant as though she might drift off into sleep... But her eyes! Alive with fire and love, never leaving the tiny creature cradled lovingly in her arms. I join her on the bed, twirling my fingers through her dishevelled hair. We exchange words of love, of unabashed joy... but everything is dwarfed in the face of our child.

Wordlessly, the babe is passed into my arms. I sigh, caressing a rough finger against his cheek, delicate and soft as feathers. He stirs, making a sound of disapproval; but Arwen's elven words wash him and once again, he is still.

"Prince Eldarion," she breathes, before turning to me with quizzical eyes. "Or would you..."

"No," I reply firmly. "'Tis a good name... fit for a King..." And I kiss them both, hoping the harsh stubble of my chin will not upset my son. Our son...

I look to his beloved mother, seeing emptiness in her expression. 'Tis something I recognise, a gaping void in her heart every time she thinks of death... Lately, I have seen it too much, every time she stroked her swollen belly and wandered around the empty nursery. Once again, I realise what she is thinking...

Eldarion is already dying... That first breath he took mere moments ago is but a prelude to his last... Whether he lives through three winters or three hundred, we have already condemned him. Did this penetrate my own father's mind, as he cradled me as a newborn?

I shake my head - I will not mar such this moment with morbid thoughts. My lips press against Arwen's, in a slow kiss that warms my entire body. Surrounded by the beauty of our love, and the life that we have created, death is driven from my mind. I hold my family close for the first time; ignorant to the trumpet calls announcing our joy to the city.


End file.
